The Paradoxically Pure Hearted Thief
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: A collection of nine unrelated vignettes focusing on nine different aspects of Newkirk's character.  Covers pre-series, post-series, mid-series, and some spanning multiple points in time.  Vignette 4: Worrier; based on episode 35, no major spoilers.
1. There'll Always Be an England

_Author's note: the characters aren't mine (except for the OCs), and the story is! This is the first of nine vignettes based on nine aspects of Newkirk's character (I chose nine because of the old adage of a cat having nine lives, and the fact that Newkirk is a cat burglar), this one focusing on his loyalty—to the Crown, and also to his friends. The title of the vignette collection comes from another one of my fics where a character described Newkirk as "a paradoxically pure-hearted thief."  
This particular vignette was also inspired by the prompt "This night, thy soul may be required of thee" at the 31 Days community on LiveJournal_.

* * *

**Just outside of London, England; May 30, 1940:**

The newly-promoted corporal, Peter Newkirk, snapped to attention with the rest of his colleagues as Squadron Leader Clive Rawles stalked into the room. Newkirk held a significant deal of contempt for his Squadron Leader; the man saw it his duty to browbeat his squadron and treat them with force at every turn. It was the East Ender's previous life that allowed him to grin and bear it; he had been treated no better by his father.

Rawles surveyed each of his men. The fear in their eyes did not escape him; it was particularly obvious in the hazel eyes of that corporal from the East End. They all knew of what was going on in France, and that their mission was going to be covering the retreat of the infantry as they headed to Dunkirk. The unsympathetic Squadron Leader, however, saw no reason to coddle his men. They had a duty to perform, and he would see to it that they would perform it.

"Look alive, Men," Rawles barked.

_That's a tall order, even for an officer_, Newkirk thought, derisively. _We might not even __be__ alive after tonight_.

"Our lads on the ground need help getting home, and you are going to see to it that they do," he went on. "I don't expect that all of you will return here tonight. You know that, as well. But acting like a bunch of cowards isn't going to help you or the lads on the ground."

He glared at them.

"I want to see my squadron fighting for those men as though each and every one was a blood relative of theirs," he said. "Do so, and I promise furloughs for everyone who returns here."

Newkirk's eyes shifted. The word "furlough" registered in his head as a chance to see his sister again. He had only seen her a few times since being drafted into the Royal Air Force. On the other hand, though, there was every chance in the world that if things went wrong, he would never see her again.

_Is there no way of turning down the mission?_ he half-wondered.

As Rawles began to talk again, Newkirk forced himself to listen.

"We will convene again at 2100 hours," the Squadron Leader said. "Three hours from now." He cast one more eye over the men. "At ease."

The men did not relax; they cast nervous glances around the room. Newkirk's eyes were particularly mobile, and he gave a start as Rawles addressed him.

"Corporal!"

"Sir!" Newkirk exclaimed, snapping to attention again.

"What are you afraid of, Corporal?"

"Well, Sir, I'm rather fond of living, as it were," he said. "And me sister—I'm 'er only provider—"

"_Corporal_!"

Newkirk snapped to attention again.

"You may have a duty to that sister of yours, Corporal," Rawles said. "But you've got a duty to those men on the ground—a duty to England!"

"I… I know, Sir," Newkirk said, realizing that he shouldn't have said anything.

"I expect to see you at the front of the line tonight, when we convene, Corporal," Rawles said. "I'll stamp all of that cowardice out of you, or I'll know the reason why! Do you understand me, Corporal?"

"Yes, Sir," Newkirk said, staring straight ahead.

Satisfied, Rawles dismissed him and left the room. Newkirk waited to make sure that he wasn't coming back before breathing out a sigh of relief.

"That was rather unnecessary, if you ask me," a voice said.

Newkirk looked behind him to see Senior Aircraftman Nigel Talbot, his closest friend in the squadron. Talbot, who was a few years older than Newkirk, was from a wealthy family, but had taken a liking to the East Ender.

"You don't have to tell me that I should've kept me mouth shut," Newkirk sighed, leaning against the wall.

"No; I meant that Rawles shouldn't have singled you out like that," Talbot said, with a smile. "He knows we're all afraid of going out there. Why should you be any different?"

"Because I'm supposed to be a ruddy Cockney with nothing to live for," Newkirk answered. "You've got a lot more to lose than I do, Nigel."

"That may be, Peter, but there's every chance in the world that we might lose everything no matter what we do tonight. You know what they're saying? After the Germans are done with France, we're next."

Newkirk cursed at the thought.

"But if it's tonight you're worried about, there may be a way out of it," Talbot went on. "You can always go over Rawles' head and ask, though that might not do you much good at this point. I suppose if you were really desperate, you could get an injury."

"That'd be easy," Newkirk said, dryly. "There would be no shortage of blokes who would love to give me some broken bones."

"So…"

"It'd be the easy way out," the East Ender admitted. "And believe me, it's getting more and more tempting as that ruddy clock ticks on."

"Sergeant Smith lifts weights; he can break your arm faster than you can blink," Talbot said. "Or dislocate it, at the very least."

"I can't," Newkirk said, with a shake of his head. Yes, he feared the thought of never coming back home; the thought of heading off to his possible death was utterly horrifying. And he also feared the thought of Mavis living the rest of her life alone. But he also feared the thought of the enemy swarming England as they were doing to France. He wouldn't deny the fact that he was a coward.

But he would also not deny the fact that he was an Englishman. What was the point in living in an England that likely would no longer _be_ England by the time the enemy was through with it?

"I've got to fly tonight," he realized.

"That's the spirit, Peter."

Squadron Leader Rawles was most surprised that night when he saw Newkirk standing determinedly with the others.

However, Peter Newkirk and Nigel Talbot did not return to England. Talbot lost it all, while Newkirk lost his freedom. He did not regret his choice to go on the mission; he did, however, regret that he hadn't been able to do a thing for his friend.

* * *

**Bavaria, Germany; December 15, 1943:**

"Newkirk?"

The commanding officer Newkirk now served was American, and much more compassionate than Squadron Leader Rawles had ever been.

"Sir," Newkirk said, as he usually did before addressing an officer. He was not at attention, however; he was sitting at a table in a tunnel underneath Stalag 13—the same prisoner-of-war camp he had been thrown into not too long after his capture in 1940. Only now, he was part of a resistance unit made up of fellow prisoners.

"Sir, I don't think it's such a good idea."

Colonel Hogan's eyebrows arched.

"Care to elaborate, Newkirk?"

"I'm all for making contact with that Underground girl at the 'ausnerhof Sir," Newkirk began.

"No surprise there," Carter murmured, though he sounded amused.

"But I really do think we'll be trying our luck with getting pictures of that General Whatsit's plans," the corporal finished.

"You don't have to go out tonight if you don't want to, Newkirk; we've been sending out a lot lately," Hogan said. He turned to the short Frenchman. "LeBeau, do you think you've learned enough from the Newkirk School of Lock-Picking and Safecracking to pull this off? Getting General Wahlzer's plans will mean a lot to London."

"I believe so, _mon Colonel_," LeBeau said. Newkirk noticed the nervous look in the Frenchman's eyes—one that he himself had on several occasions.

"Sir, you can't send Louis to the 'ausnerhof all alone!" Newkirk said, turning to the colonel.

"London's been asking for those plans; we've got to try to oblige them," Hogan said. "If LeBeau feels that he's confident enough to break into the room and take the pictures of those plans, then it's only fair to try."

Newkirk mulled over the words in his head.

_London's been asking for those plans; we've got to try to oblige them_…

For a moment, Newkirk wasn't in Germany; he was back with his fellow squadron members that May evening in 1940, debating on whether or not to go on the mission that ended up landing him here in Stalag 13.

"You need two men out there, Colonel," Newkirk said, after he brought himself back to the present. "As instructor and 'eadmaster of the Peter Newkirk School of Lock-Picking and Safecracking, I say that this pupil, star pupil though 'e is, 'asn't completed the last necessary graduation requirement."

"And that requirement would be…?" Hogan prompted.

"A detailed report of an observation of the process of picking a lock and cracking the safe with documents owned by a German general," Newkirk said. "Process done by the 'eadmaster of the establishment, of course."

LeBeau looked back at Newkirk with a bemused expression.

"Sorry, LeBeau; looks like you need a chaperone until you earn that diploma," Hogan said, with a mock sigh.

The Frenchman responded with a mock scoff.

"You two get ready," Hogan said. "Head for Hammelburg right after lights out. It _is_ a dangerous mission, so don't take any unnecessary risks. You know the drill; do what you have to in order to make it back here."

The two corporals agreed, preparing their civilian clothes. They knew that each mission, however different, had one thing in common—there was a chance they might not return.

"It's going to be beastly cold out there," Newkirk murmured, as he selected the thickest coat he could find for himself.

"You were the one who said that I was not ready," LeBeau reminded him.

"Of course," said Newkirk. "Don't forger—London wants it. And when London wants something, a good Englishman does 'is level best to get it!"

"And a Frenchman does the same for _la belle France_!" LeBeau retorted. He clenched a fist. "For France!"

"For England!" Newkirk countered, also clenching a fist.

_And for all of us_, he added silently to himself.

This time, he vowed, he'd be able to help his friend.


	2. It Was a Pleasure

_Author's note: This second vignette, which focuses on Newkirk as a judge of character, is based on episode 131, "Is There a Traitor in the House?" and contains __**major spoilers**__ for said episode! _

* * *

Berlin Betty was waiting for Newkirk when the Englishman returned to Klink's office. It was a perplexing dilemma he had; Hogan and the others had been most unsympathetic towards Betty's story—how her family was being held hostage so that she'd do these propaganda broadcasts, and how he, Newkirk, was having second thoughts about slipping in the code into his speech.

He cast one look back out the window at Barracks Two. They would be waiting for his decision, he knew.

"Is something wrong, Newkirk?" Betty asked him.

Newkirk gave a start, turning back to her.

"Oh, it's… it's just…" He trailed off, not even sure where to begin.

"They don't want you to go through with it?" she guessed. "It's not too late, Newkirk; you can still refuse. I understand how you must feel, knowing that so many people will be listening to you."

_Cor, if you only knew the half of it_, Newkirk thought.

Here she was, still unaware of why he really was going through with this charade—that his speech was coded, and that if he did give it, her life would very well be in danger. She wouldn't be so cheerful if she only knew…

The corporal watched in silence as she drew two chairs to the table, upon which rested recording and radio equipment. She gestured for him to sit down.

"You must feel helpless here, spending day after day as a prisoner of war," she said. "But you may be doing some good by denouncing the war. If it will bring peace, you will be able to go home. And you might see your family again."

"And you might see yours," Newkirk realized.

Betty smiled.

"You always think about others, don't you?" she asked. It sounded as though her voice was filled with admiration.

"Yes," Newkirk replied, instantly. "I do. I think about me family and me mates…"

"And me," she added, still smiling.

Newkirk responded with a nod, his thoughts flying through his mind at dangerously fast speeds.

_Why don't you tell her the truth? Tell her that you know a way that you might be able to help her and her family. Tell her about the code—tell her that you can easily get the Underground to get her out of this predicament!_

"Betty," he began. "You know…" He trailed off as she dabbed at a tear.

"I'm sorry," she said. "They don't like it when I show emotions over my family like this. I am supposed to act as though I agree with their terrible ideals… And if I do not, what will happen to my family? I shudder to even think…!"

Newkirk's gaze shifted around the room as he usually did when he was nervous. His glanced fell upon the picture where Kinch had installed the bug that fed to the coffeepot, and the realization hit him: they were hearing every word. Well, in the long run, it didn't really matter—they would find out his decision sooner or later, once he figured out what it was.

The Englishman frowned. If they could hear everything, then surely their hearts weren't so stone-cold that Betty's story wasn't tugging at a few heartstrings! The poor lady was pleading for help; why couldn't they realize that?

He shut his eyes, trying to reach his decision.

He would have to say that he couldn't go through with it, coded message or no coded message. Of course, that would make going back to Barracks Two more difficult than ever; he could just imagine Carter's look of disappointment, Hogan and Kinch's dissatisfied glares, and LeBeau's look of utter disgust. The Frenchman was likely going to be the most displeased since Newkirk had asked him for advice earlier when the Englishman had presented his dilemma to them. And they all would be upset, especially after what had happened with Gretel…

…_Gretel_….

Newkirk suddenly felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. Gretel had told him a sob story, too, that he had fallen for hook, line, and sinker. And after he had shown her the tunnels, she had revealed herself to be working for Hochstetter. The major had almost found out about the entire operation; had it not been for Hogan's quick thinking and Carter's flawless disguise, the day could have ended with several arrests, and deaths would not have been too far behind.

"Newkirk?"

The Englishman looked at Betty as she spoke again; she had clearly sensed the distress that was creeping into him.

"Are you sure you want to go through with the broadcast, Newkirk?" she asked, still blinking back her tears. She still had no idea that the other Heroes _wanted_ Newkirk to do the broadcast, and that the Englishman was trying to convince himself of the same. She looked so sincere; then again, so had Gretel.

_But what if she's telling the truth?_ Newkirk asked himself. _They can all be like Gretel. Some of them have to be telling the truth_.

_And what if she isn't being honest? _his rational mind asked. _What if she turns out to be another Gretel? Can you really risk the lives of your best mates?_

"Newkirk, it's time for the broadcast," Betty said. "Just… just do what it is you feel you must."

Newkirk gave a nod, only paying a minimal amount of attention as she began to talk over the recording equipment. He drew the paper with the coded speech from his pocket, looking over it as Betty began to run her fingers through his hair.

He would complete his mission. Maybe there would still be a way afterwards to help Betty—maybe he could ask her where her family was being held, if she possibly knew. The Underground could handle things, then. If they were close enough to Hammelburg, perhaps he could do it himself!

He was mulling over these thoughts as he read from the paper. He knew that his companions would be undoubtedly relieved as they heard him.

Without a question, they were worth more than all the frauleins in Germany.

As they finished up, Newkirk breathed a sigh as Betty signed off. He was smiling—he had completed his mission, and maybe there was going to be a way to help her and her family after all…

His smile quickly faded, however, as Betty's demeanor changed to a much colder one, and she revealed the truth—that she had lied to him, and that her story and her apparent feelings for him had been a charade to test his sincerity. Newkirk didn't let on how upset he was with himself for almost trusting her like he had done with Gretel—or how he had been ready to hint that there may have been a way to help her. He maintained his cocky air until after she had left; he dropped his own charade as Schultz led him back to Barracks Two.

"Why are you so upset?" the big man inquired. "You got to spend the entire evening with that _sehr schöne_ Berlin Betty…" He shut his eyes. "Oh, how I wished I could have spent some time with her—"

"It ain't as simple as that, Schultzie," Newkirk replied, glumly. "But I guess everything turned out for the best."

Schultz shrugged and ushered him inside the barracks before going off on his rounds.

Newkirk arrived to the voices of his comrades congratulating him, though he was only able to respond with half-hearted smiles—something which they realized immediately and knew the reason why.

"You don't look so good," Carter said, trying to make it seem as though he knew nothing of the matter. "You look as though you've been eating Louis' bouillabaisse—ow!"

LeBeau had silently slapped the back of the young American's head in response.

"Oh, go on…" Newkirk said. "I know you lot were listening over the coffeepot."

"Well, we were holding our breath," Kinch admitted.

"But you came through," LeBeau said, patting the Englishman on the arm.

"Only just," Newkirk admitted. "You don't know 'ow close I came to backing out. And after that, you don't know 'ow close I came to telling 'er that I might know of a way to 'elp 'er family—which she never 'ad!"

He shook his head, disgusted with himself.

"I can't believe I fell for it," he said, sitting down at the table.

"It's always a blow when you find out that the woman you thought you loved was playing you for a fool," Hogan said, sagely. "At least you went through with the mission and didn't tell her."

"Like I said, Guv, I thought about it," the corporal admitted. "But then I thought of Gretel and realized that it was too much of a risk. So I was planning to ask 'er if she knew of where 'er family might be—without telling 'er what I intended to do with that information, of course."

"And then you'd run the information through the Underground," Hogan concluded. "Well, I supposed that's a major improvement on bringing girls into the tunnel."

Newkirk flinched.

"I reckon I deserved that…" he said.

"But that is not what is truly bothering you, _non_?" LeBeau asked, sitting in one of the chairs beside him.

Newkirk looked at the shorter corporal. He wasn't surprised that the Frenchman had been able to read him so well; that was partly the reason why he had gone to him for advice in the first place.

"Yeah, there is something else bothering me; I shouldn't 'ave believed that blooming Berlin Betty and 'er pack of lies!" he snarled. "I've lived on the streets of Stepney long enough to be a fairly decent judge of character."

"Hey, you said it yourself—lack of practice," said Carter. "That's why you didn't see through Gretel, either."

"You think I really _meant_ that rubbish?" Newkirk asked, rolling his eyes. "Blimey, I was right about you when I judged you to be a nutcase."

"Yeah, well that's different," Carter said, waving off the insult as LeBeau stifled a snark. "You run into a lot more nutcases than women in this line of work."

"Ain't that the truth…?" Kinch murmured.

"And besides that, if you really _did_ lose your ability at being a good judge of character, you wouldn't have hesitated in telling Berlin Betty about the truth," Carter added. "And you probably wouldn't have gone through with the mission."

"And think of the bright side, _mon pote_," LeBeau said. "Since you did go through with the mission, if the goons suspect that there was a coded message, they will investigate her!"

Newkirk pondered over this and smirked.

"Yeah, I reckon I did pull one over on 'er, didn't I? And right under 'er ruddy nose, to boot!"

"Klink's coming," Olsen announced, pulling away from the door.

"I expected that," Hogan said. "Everyone, get into position."

LeBeau obligingly began to yell at Newkirk in his native tongue as Klink strode inside the barracks, though they all snapped to attention as the "noticed" Klink's arrival.

"Fighting amongst yourselves?" the German colonel asked, shaking his head. "Disgraceful. Simply disgraceful."

"Sir, I request permission to administer punishment to this… traitor!" Hogan said, playing the part of a disgusted commanding officer.

"Permission denied, Hogan," Klink said, a grin on his face. "Newkirk will be getting special treatment for his contribution for a week—extra rations and showers, and there is nothing you can say or do, Hogan, that will get me to change my mind. The Geneva Convention most certainly will not say anything against such treatment in any of its articles, will it?"

"You're cruel, Sir," Hogan responded. "Cruel beyond comprehension…"

Klink merely smirked and turned to Newkirk.

"Newkirk, you don't have spend time here with the rest of these closed minds if you feel as though you would prefer better quarters," he said.

"I'll be fine, Sir," the Englishman said. "I can look after meself; underneath it all, they're all talk."

The others responded with angry rants.

"True, Newkirk, true," Klink said, handing Newkirk a piece of signed stationary. "All the same, there is something else to discuss. You see, Betty had to return to Berlin—matter of emergency, she said. But she left you this note of thanks. Is there anything you wish to tell her?"

Newkirk shook his head, and Klink merely shrugged and left the barracks.

"I'm surprised, Newkirk," Hogan said. "You didn't want to give Betty a tongue-in-cheek compliment that only you would know the true meaning of?"

"Not really, Sir," Newkirk said, taking out a lighter and setting fire to the thank-you note. "But tomorrow morning, when we 'ear that ball bearing plant getting demolished, I can reflect on 'ow it really was a pleasure."


	3. The Code of Thievery

_Author's Note: This vignette was inspired by today's 31_days prompt: "There's a Fine Line Between One's Good Points and Bad Points." Also, I have this vignette taking place in November of 1942, when Carter was still relatively new to the team and when the team was more focused on rescuing downed fliers rather than sabotage, which explains some of Newkirk's thought process later on._

* * *

**Bavaria, Germany; November 3, 1942**

Throughout the course of history, thieves have always had a code of honor. Granted, it was always something of an unwritten code, and, like the Pirate Code, the rules were more "guidelines" than anything else and were open to personal interpretation, but Peter Newkirk followed his own set of rules whenever he engaged in thievery—which had been. He was no classy, gentleman thief by any means, but this rascally rogue did have morals. And as he and two best friends paused just outside of Colonel Feldkamp's headquarters in Hammelburg, waiting to infiltrate the dark corridors within, he found himself being forced to reassess his own code, which was rather simple. There were only three rules in the Peter Newkirk Code of Thievery, after all.

Rule number one was never to steal anything on what would've been Mum's birthday or the anniversary of her death. Newkirk had never stolen anything while she was alive; he hadn't needed to, and, if he had, Elizabeth Newkirk would've nipped it in the bud faster than he could've said "Cor blimey!" And while Peter was not one to admit that he believed in ghosts, he decided that it was on those two days that he would not steal. The remaining 363 days, however, were fair game.

Well, that didn't matter tonight, thankfully; tonight wasn't linked to his mother in any way. Even if it had, though, he would've made an exception in this case. This time, it was part of a mission, and lives were at stake—not just his own life, but those of his closest friends. And that led to rule number two.

Rule number two was never to steal anything from his best mates—well, steal and not return, that is; Newkirk's rare pranks sometimes consisted of making his friends' possessions go missing, but always temporarily. He would never even consider stealing from his friends with the intent to fatten his own pockets. Some things in life had to be sacred, and to Newkirk, his friends were just that.

That rule didn't apply in this current situation, either, though; this theft he was about to commit was on a complete stranger, and the object he was taking would, in fact, save the lives of his friends.

Oh, it was a valuable object, though not at first glance—it was a roll of film. But in it was incriminating evidence; some transient German officer (an ardent spy sent by suspicious superiors) had arrived in Stalag 13, ordering Klink around and keeping him busy (despite being a captain, though, really, a lieutenant could've done it). The captain wasted no time in snooping around the stalag as he had been ordered. The Heroes had taken the precaution of temporarily suspending their operations, and they nearly would've gotten away with it had the captain not tripped over the rug in Klink's quarters and crashed into the stove; the angle of his collision had been the one angle that caused the stove to move on its hinge, revealing the tunnel entrance trapdoor beneath it.

All madness had broken loose at that point. The captain was in the tunnels, taking pictures of everything down there. And as it had all happened during roll call, precious time had been wasted; by the time the Heroes all headed down into the tunnels to jump him, it was too late. He had gone. Olsen gave the news that he had seen a very puzzled but relieved Klink trying to stop the captain from leaving, but to no avail. It took Colonel Hogan only a moment to determine what to do, and his subsequent orders to Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter had no sugarcoating on them.

"Get that film back and replace it with this," he said, handing Newkirk another roll of film. "And then get rid him, or else we're all as good as dead."

There was no declining this mission, and the trio was soon off and in disguise, following the captain.

And as the three discussed about how they only had a limited time, and that the rest of their comrades were packing up even as they spoke, Newkirk didn't give much thought to his personal Code of Thievery. He was concerned as his comrades about the possibility of this being their final mission, one way or another, this would be their final mission. Even if they silenced the captain, there was every chance in the world that they would still have to flee for their lives if Feldkamp, or anyone else, got so much as a look at the film.

But it was only when LeBeau pulled the car up to the looming building that Newkirk was reminded of rule number three—that he would never inflict any harm on anyone during a robbery. Never once in all of his times as a cat burglar in London had Newkirk ever used a weapon, even though he always carried his "pencil sharpener." Even since coming to Stalag 13 and taking part in the missions, he had usually avoided armed robbery here, as well, if he could avoid it. But even on the odd missions where he had committed armed robbery, he had never killed anyone.

But Hogan's orders had been quite clear. That was going to have to change right now if he had any hope of ensuring the safety of his mates. And Newkirk did not need to debate the situation for more than two seconds—his mates' lives trumped _everything_, including his own life.

"Keep the motor running, Louis," Newkirk said, quietly, as he (dressed as a lieutenant) and Carter (dressed as a corporal) got out of the car they had "borrowed" from the motor pool.

The Frenchman, also in disguise as an enemy corporal, nodded, knowing that he would have a very difficult time with trying to pass as a German—especially with his thick French accent.

Carter was pale behind the false mustache he was wearing; the younger American hadn't been with the team very long, and the prospect of walking in that building to steal the film was very daunting. His pockets were full of smokescreen charges in the event that they would have to make a quick escape.

Newkirk's face was set with determination as he led Carter inside. The trick was, of course, acting like he belonged there—walking with his eyes straight ahead and head held high, keeping a snooty expression on his face. Carter took his lead and imitated him, remaining silent as Newkirk gruffly asked someone where the captain in question had gone.

"_He is waiting for Colonel Feldkamp, outside his office_," the man replied.

Newkirk thanked him and led Carter to the office. He had the decoy film in his hand, and the switch itself took an instant—he "accidentally" collided with the captain and pulled off the switch without the captain even realizing what had happened.

Carter gave Newkirk a look, indicating that they had to get the captain away so that they could decide what to do with him. The sergeant still held onto the idea that maybe, they could dump him off with the Underground and have them ship him off to England for the remainder of the war.

Cynical Newkirk, on the other hand, was certain that they could never pull off a kidnap job—not in the middle of the secret police headquarters, anyway—and that Hogan's orders were to kill the man.

The Englishman responded to Carter's look with a shake of his head, though he did agree that if they were going to dispatch of the captain, it would be best to do it elsewhere than in the middle of the corridor.

Carter bit his lip as Newkirk turned back to address the captain.

"Excuse me, Sir, but if you could possibly…"

Newkirk trailed off as the captain turned to him, his eyes widening in recognition.

"You…" he hissed. "You are one of the Englishmen from Stalag 13!"

"Run, Andrew!" Newkirk hissed, turning to go.

"_HALT_!"

The captain seized Newkirk by the collar of his uniform and cuffed him on the back of the head, calling for backup from anyone within earshot and ordering them to attack the infiltrators.

Carter panicked, and did the first thing that came to his mind—he lit a smokescreen charge and started yelling that there was a fire. The captain cursed as smoke filled the corridor, and Newkirk saw his chance to elbow him in the ribs.

The captain let him go as he grunted in pain, and Newkirk now turned on him, drawing the weapon Hogan had supplied him with, but soon found himself facing the captain's own weapon.

For one second, the captain and the corporal stood face to face with their guns pointed at each other—one second that seemed like an eternity. They stood as a perfect contrast, perfect opposites.

Newkirk snapped himself out of it as he looked into the captain's cold eyes and saw the unfeeling hatred and lack of remorse. In what was another second—nay, a fraction of a second—the Englishman recalled something that Hogan had once told him when their fledgling operation had just gotten started and Newkirk had been complaining about how he hadn't been doing much of anything other than running around stealing things.

"_Don't think of it as_ _stealing, Newkirk. You're fighting—fighting a war. You're a soldier first_."

Newkirk brought himself back to the present and didn't even think about it a second more. His finger started squeeze down on the trigger, but he froze as he heard a gunshot first—not from him, not from the captain, and certainly not from Carter, who was still yelling about the fire.

No, the gunshot came from the other end of the corridor, and as Newkirk looked on in stunned silence, the captain he was about to kill fell forward, motionless.

Newkirk hurriedly put his weapon away as a shocked, young private ran over, his eyes wide.

"_What happened_?" he gasped. "_I… I heard shouting and saw the smoke! I thought I heard someone shouting_! _And I heard someone order to open fire_! _I thought it was an arsonist, so I fired_—!"

"_You shot the captain_!" Newkirk replied, equally stunned. "_The arsonist fled down the corridor! I will get him; you try to revive the captain! And be sure to tell Colonel Feldkamp exactly what happened!_"

It would be a waste of effort to try to revive the captain; even through the smoke, Newkirk could see the telltale hue to the man's face. He was dead.

"_Come, Carterhoff_!" Newkirk ordered, just refraining from dragging the stunned Carter through the smokescreen.

They didn't stop to catch their breath; they couldn't afford to with men swarming all around them, heading for the corridor they had just left. They got out of the building as quickly as they could, much to the relief of the worried LeBeau who had seen the smoke coming out of a hall window and had assumed the worst.

"Mission accomplished," Newkirk gasped, once he and Carter inside and LeBeau had driven off. "I've got the film, and the captain is dead!"

"And we weren't the ones who killed him!" Carter said, still in disbelief.

The American launched into the story for the Frenchman's benefit.

"You should've seen it, though," he finished. "If that private hadn't come along when he did, Newkirk would've gone through with it!"

"Too right," the Englishman sighed. "Didn't really 'ave a choice, did I?"

"Well, at least be grateful that you did not have to kill him," LeBeau said, with a shake of his head. "There is no way to link Stalag 13 to his death, and you can be just an ordinary, honorable thief."

Newkirk mused for a moment. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't violated any of the three rules of the Peter Newkirk Code of Thievery. But perhaps it was time to put aside that code aside in favor of a new one.

"Not just an honorable thief, little mate," he said at last, a wan smile on his face as he recalled Hogan's words again. "An honorable solider, too."


	4. Clock Watching

_Author's note: this vignette is shorter than the others, but I feel it captures all that it needs to in its current length. This one focuses on how Newkirk worries for his comrades, and one of the crowning examples was in "Diamonds in the Rough" in season 2, which is what this vignette is based on (no major spoilers this time, though). I also tried something different with this vignette—usually, I write in past tense, but I tried writing this one in present tense._

* * *

**Bavaria, Germany; March 13, 1943**

Peter Newkirk stares at the bunk bed trapdoor entrance expectantly. Louis LeBeau and Andrew Carter went out about an hour ago to pick up something sent from London. They are due back now; it shouldn't have taken this long.

But the trapdoor doesn't open. Newkirk cannot hear the voices of his two best friends in the tunnel, coming towards them.

A sinking feeling begins to build in the Englishman's gut. He knows that Major Hegel has men swarming the woods, just waiting for them to escape—Colonel Hogan seems convinced that the major wants them all dead.

It's true that LeBeau and Carter have been lucky several times in the past. Could it be that their luck has finally run out in the face of this ruthless foe?

Newkirk looks to Hogan now, trying to see whether or not his commanding officer is expressing any anxiety over his men's absence. The colonel is pouring himself a cup of coffee; it's going to be a long night for him, whether or not LeBeau and Carter return. If they return, then he has to dream up the next stage of their plan; if they do not return…

Newkirk looks away, trying not to think about that second possibility. He could use a drink, too, but not coffee—something much stronger.

The corporal crosses to his footlocker now, digging through its contents for the bottle of schnapps he had purloined from Klink a few days ago, before this debacle had started. His sudden movements quickly grab Hogan's attention.

"Newkirk," he says, sternly.

The Englishman gives the American a pleading look.

"Just a small one, Guv—I need it to calm me nerves…"

"I need everyone—including you—completely sober for the next twenty-four hours, possibly longer," Hogan insists. "Put the schnapps away, and hope that we'll have a reason to drink it after this is all over."

"Yes, Sir…"

Newkirk closes the footlocker, getting up and crossing to the stove. Beside the coffee is the cooking pot that LeBeau had been using to make their dinner only hours ago.

The Englishman lifts the lid off of the pot, staring at the leftovers of some French stew that he can't even remember the name of. The creamy sauce isn't something that he normally finds appealing, but Newkirk finds himself wishing that LeBeau was here, cooking something—even though the Englishman frequently claims that the fumes from the cooking make him light-headed.

But Newkirk isn't even hungry now; he highly doubts that he would be able to keep anything down in his anxious state, even if he was hungry. He doesn't know what he will do if LeBeau does not return. The Frenchman is the reason why the Englishman is alive now—weeks of tender care and good cooking during illness had put the weight on the previously-scrawny Englishman when they had first met. Newkirk can't bear to imagine the thought of LeBeau dying without realizing all he has done for him. Actually, he can't bear to imagine the thought of LeBeau dying at all.

Newkirk knows that LeBeau and his cooking have given him more than just physical nutrition. The Englishman will never admit out loud that he considers the Frenchman his rock… his pillar of strength. He remembers how they had been here at Stalag 13 long before the Americans. He remembers how they had been the ones to start the tunnels that now serve as their organization's lifeline. He remembers how they had been the ones to spend the most time in the cooler for their previous failed escapes. And he remembers all too well that they had been the ones to stay in this Luft Stalag when it had been nothing more than a mere prisoner-of-war camp.

Newkirk now draws a chair from the table and sits down on it, staring at the table top, but not really seeing it. His mind is still on LeBeau, and now he is thinking about Carter, too. He hasn't known the younger American as long as he has the others, but the two have hit it off since their first meeting. He knows that the younger sergeant looks up to him, and the idea that he might be dead out there at the hands of Hegel not only worries him, but makes him realize that he might very well have let him down.

The Englishman's thoughts turn back to the Frenchman again. He knows that in the likely event that LeBeau and Carter had been taken alive, LeBeau's short temper would be exactly what could get him killed on the spot…

Kinch's voice cuts through the silence, jerking Newkirk from his pessimistic thoughts.

"Welcome to my world," the older sergeant says, softly. He knows the feeling of unbridled worry and helplessness all too well, often staying behind to man the radio when the others are out on missions.

The Englishman sighs, realizing that Kinch must go through this same agony all the time. And he never complains about it, either…

"Kinch…" he says, shaking his head. "I 'ave a whole new admiration for you. 'ow do you do it, Mate? 'ow do you keep yourself from going completely mad with worry while we're out there?"

The radio expert sighs, taking a moment to think before he replies. It isn't easy—it never is, no matter how many times he's been through it before.

"It's not something you can get used to, Newkirk. Every time, it feels the same way. And I just try a healthy dose of pacing, praying, and clock-watching."

"I thought so," the Englishman says.

Hogan clears his throat now. He can appreciate Newkirk's worry; he knows how close the corporal is to Carter and, especially, to LeBeau. The three of them are inseparable, and, many times, the colonel finds humor and a moment's escape in their antics. He doesn't want that to end, but, more importantly, he doesn't want to lose any of his men. And that includes losing men in spirit.

"It's not time to worry just yet, Newkirk. There are plenty of reasons why they could be delayed. It could be that the plane missed the drop point—in which case, they're probably just as frustrated out there as you are in here."

"Ordinarily, I wouldn't even give it 'alf a thought!" Newkirk lies. "If it wasn't for that ruddy Major 'egel out there, there wouldn't be any reason to worry about Louis and Andrew going out there to pick up that drop!"

"I'm only saying that we shouldn't jump to the worst possible conclusions yet," Hogan says. "LeBeau and Carter know what they're doing."

"Oh, and I am well aware of the fact that they do know what they're doing, Sir. But 'egel knows what he's doing, too!"

Hogan considers this for a moment. He does not deny it, but he still decides that it is not time to panic yet.

The Englishman is not as convinced. Newkirk is always concerned whenever any of his companions goes out on a mission, but he is usually good about keeping his concerns hidden. But he is right about one thing—tonight's circumstances are considerably more worrisome than usual. Had it not been for the possibility of becoming a rich man, Major Hegel could have easily killed them all by now.

Newkirk knows that Hogan is aware of this, even without his telling him. After that harrowing experience of being confronted by Hegel, increased manpower from Hegel was to be expected. The Englishman is still astounded that Hogan has not given the order to evacuate the camp, but he grudgingly admits that the colonel is usually right about these things. _Usually_; Newkirk isn't about to forget that Hogan's willingness to trust that milkmaid is what led to this entire mess. Despite that, Colonel Hogan is the only officer that Newkirk has come to respect, but, this time, he cannot bring himself to not worry about his comrades, no matter what the colonel says.

And so, the conspicuous absence of LeBeau and Carter once again begins to weigh on Newkirk's shoulders as he resumes his worrying.

The Englishman clambers onto his bunk, attempting to try to sleep. Perhaps LeBeau and Carter will be there when he awakens…

The minutes tick by, and turn into another hour as the sleep evades the corporal. It's been two hours now since the Frenchman and the American set out, and still no sign of either of them has turned up.

Newkirk sighs as he gets back down from the bunk. Perhaps it's just as well that he didn't get any sleep; in his current state, he would likely get nightmares that would only make him feel worse.

He tries to play a game of solitaire, but he can't focus on it. Kinch offers to play a round of gin; the Englishman wants to accept, but he knows his heart won't be in it. Kinch understands.

After brooding over it some more, Newkirk pours Hogan another cup of coffee, still avoiding it himself; his nerves are on edge enough as it is. As he voices his concerns again about how he should have gone out with LeBeau and Carter, the bunk bed trapdoor finally opens.

Relief comes out of the Englishman's mouth tinged with anger as he chides LeBeau and Carter for being so late. LeBeau counters with some well-chosen words in his own tongue—a miniature, acerbic French diatribe aimed directly at Newkirk's ears.

And at the present moment, for Peter Newkirk, it is the most wonderful sound in the world.


End file.
